


My will is bondsman to the dark

by amberfox17



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Demons, Exhibitionism, Fallen Angel Loki, M/M, Masturbation, Monk Thor, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the tumblr prompt: Thor is a monk. Loki is a fallen angel come to tempt him into sin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My will is bondsman to the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [My will is bondsman to the dark (中譯)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217167) by [Coralhime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coralhime/pseuds/Coralhime)



> Full prompt: Thor is a monk or a priest from the medieval age. Loki is a fallen angel come to tempt him into sin and freedom from life of rules and regulations. Thor would refuse... but Loki is just sooo beautiful.
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> [Photoset here](http://amberfox17.tumblr.com/post/57248785853)
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> I went off on a bit of a tangent, but hope this pleases you, anon! Title is from Alfred Tennyson's In Memoriam.

It is the dead of winter, and most of the monks are hurrying from the chapel to the dormitory, only too glad that the last office of Compline is over, and they can retreat to their beds until the new day starts with Matins at midnight. But one novice monk moves as if his feet were stone, reluctance dogging his heels as he turns aside for his own private cell.

Such a thing is a luxury in the bleak and barren monastery, and the source of many a rumour from the older brothers, who gossip behind their hands about this strange new arrival, too old, too tall and too strong to be anything other than an ex-crusader, who walks with his head down and hands clasped as if it would help him blend in. As well expect a lion to hide among housecats; but the stranger has taken a vow of silence and the abbot will not discuss anything about his circumstances, except to prevail upon the brothers to help him adjust and adapt to his new life serving the glory of God.

It is the heart of winter and the days are short and the night is long. Some of the monks swear they hear cries coming from the novice’s lonely cell in the depth of the darkness of the night, but as the kinder souls point out, that is not surprising from a man who bears the scars of war on his body and on his soul.

Frost creeps up the windowpane of the cold and lonely cell.

Thor, once called the Thunderer, once a wielder of the war-hammer and a knight without peer, does not dare to lie in his bed this night; instead, he kneels in front of it, the floor rough and unyielding beneath his knees, and places his hands together to pray. The abbot frowns on excessive prayer, reminding the brothers that the Rule of St Benedict calls for moderation and obedience in all things: there are times for prayer, communal and private, times for work and so are times for rest, and the hours between Compline and Matins are for sleeping, to maintain their strength so that they might better serve God. But Thor feels in dire need of spiritual support, and so he prays, lips moving silently as he mouths the words over and over beneath his steaming breath.

 “Are you not pleased to see me, Brother Thor?”

Thor squeezes his eyes closed and prays harder. _Oh, Lord, deliver us from evil and lead us not into temptation._ Has he not turned his back on the wicked and sinful life he was leading? Has he not sought shelter among the holiest people he could find?

There is a hand on his shoulder; he can feel its warmth soaking into his skin even through the coarse, heavy robes he wears. He tries not to flinch, tries to concentrate on the rhythm of the prayer. He cannot help but notice the intoxicating scent that is filling the room, the scent of burning leaves and animal musk, of sickly sweet honey and spilt blood.

“If you tell me to go, I will go,” the voice says mournfully. “Will you not at least tell me farewell?”

 The hand trails down his arm and brushes across the back of his fingers, pressed together so hard they must surely be turning white. Despite the freezing cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. He has broken so many vows; this one of silence he must keep, so that the monks will accept him as a brother and then surely, _surely_ he will be free of this burden and worthy of the forgiveness of the Lord.

 “Am I not worthy of being spoken to? After all this time, after all the times I’ve looked after you. Provided for you. _Saved_ you.” The voice is deep and smoky, and sounds genuinely hurt. It is lies, all lies, he tells himself desperately. “Will you not even look at me?”

He has _tried_ to turn his back on temptation. But temptation has other ideas.

He opens his eyes.

The demon is sitting on his bed in front of him, legs spread obscenely wide, lean thighs bracketing Thor’s head. He is completely naked.

“Have you forsaken me?” the demon asks, pale skin gleaming in the moonlight. “Do you doubt that I love you?”

Thor does not answer, but he cannot look away. He is certain that he did not sell his soul, that though he accepted what was offered, in the long and lonely night in the desert, when the stars failed to weep and nothing burned for him but the touch of the demon’s skin. He did not say the words nor sign a contract. And yet, somehow, his soul belongs to the prince of lies before him, to the beautiful boy with the silver tongue who cocks his head and smiles with sharp white teeth.

“I have missed you, my beloved,” Loki says, leaning forward to press a kiss of benediction on Thor’s forehead, chastely closed lips parting as his tongue flickers out to lap the sweat beading along Thor’s hairline. “I am so lonely without your company. I hardly know what to do with myself when you are away.”

Thor shudders. Loki stretches as he sits back, flinging his arms out in a parody of the crude figure on the crucifix hanging on the wall behind him. He watches Thor watch him, and braces himself with one hand on the bed while the other flutters to his throat.   

“Am I to be lonely yet again tonight?”

His long fingers trail down his chest and Thor’s gaze follows helplessly as he begins to pleasure himself with slow, sure strokes, his cock swelling and hardening only inches from Thor’s face.

He forces himself to look up, but that is no better. Loki’s eyes catch the faint light and throw it back as he moves, like the predators that circled the camps at night, and the shadows seem to gather at his shoulders like a cloak of dark feathers, a suggestion of furled wings that rustle as he sighs.

“I miss your hands on me,” he says softly and Thor is distracted by the way he slowly rubs his thumb over the head of his cock. “It has been so long, Thor. Will you not bring me relief?”

Thor shakes his head, but he is transfixed by the way Loki’s fingers are wrapped around his cock. He must resist – must not act –

“You are so cruel,” Loki whispers, setting a steady rhythm as he strokes himself. “Was it not good between us? Did I not give you everything you could desire?”

There are beads of pre-come sliding under his thumb now; Thor can remember the taste, remembers the feel of Loki’s cock leaping in his hand, the feel of his body when Thor slid into him, yielding and clenching all at once, blissfully hot and tight. He remembers Loki on his knees, yelping; remembers him on his back, legs wrapped around Thor’s waist, begging for more, Thor, please, _harder_ ; remembers him sitting astride Thor, face alive with wicked joy, one hand moving on his own cock just like this, the other teasing at Thor’s balls, lightly stroking where their bodies joined together as Thor groaned.

“ _I_ desire only your happiness,” Loki says, his breath coming faster. “ _I_ have kept my word and my faith. _I_ have followed you halfway across the world, and all I ask is to stay with you and love you as I always have.”

He tosses his head back, long dark hair sliding across his face, and just for a moment the shape of proud, curving horns flickers from his brow.

“Thor,” Loki sighs and Thor jerks, trying and failing to ignore how his own cock strains against his robe, tries not to think how easy it would be to just lean forward and rest his head against Loki’s thighs, to work his tongue between his cheeks, to pull him forward and onto Thor’s lap.

“Thor,” Loki says, more urgently now, and his hand moves faster and faster, his grip tightening as his hips buck. “Oh, Thor, my Thor, beloved,” he pants and Thor is panting with him, knuckles white where his own hands are clenched against his thighs. Loki’s body shines with sweat, the muscles of his abdomen clenching as he pushes into his own hand and from where Thor is kneeling he can see his balls are drawn up against the root of his cock, the long vein pulsing as Loki works.

“Thor,” Loki says again, his name falling from the demon’s lips like a litany, Loki’s eyes fixed on his face. “Thor, Thor – ah – Thor!” and he is coming, thick ropes of creamy white splashing against his chest and pooling on his stomach as his body strains and his head tips back, the very embodiment of sinful ecstasy.

Thor can taste blood where he has bitten his lip. He wants, more than anything, to push Loki down onto the bed so he can fuck him properly, work him open and take him, brutally hard, to have him squirming and moaning around his cock, to fuck him into incoherence, until he cannot even manage Thor’s name, breathless and sobbing beneath him. He has done it before, and if the memories were not enough to have him aching with need, his cock throbbing beneath his scratchy robes, desire chokes him as Loki swirls one finger through his own come and then brings it to his lips, face thoughtful as he licks his finger clean.

He will not. He must not. He forces himself to remain still, though his muscles tremble with the effort. His torment is almost over, for surely the demon will now depart, and once alone he will bind his hands, will return to prayer, will fall no further.

“Oh, I would not leave you so,” Loki says fondly, and suddenly his hands are on Thor, inhumanly strong. He wrenches Thor up in one swift movement and forces him onto the bed, perched precariously on the edge, legs pushed apart so Loki can kneel between them, a mirror of their previous positions.

Loki looks up at him from between his thighs, already pushing his robe up to expose his erection. “ _I_ am not cruel,” he says, smiling, his breath ghosting over Thor’s cock and making him twitch. “I do love you, after all.”

Thor opens his mouth to refuse, to deny, but it is too late: Loki swallows him whole, root to tip, and his words turn to a barely muffled grunt. He reaches for Loki automatically, his hands tangling in the demon’s long hair, and when his eyes close he can feel where the horns erupt from Loki’s scalp. When he opens his eyes he can see only a handsome man, who smiles around his cock, then pulls off, a thin line of salvia joining the swollen head to his wet lips as Thor’s hands fall to his sides.

Loki licks slowly around the head, dipping into the slit and then running the flat of his tongue down the shaft and over Thor’s balls, before sitting back on his heels, head tilted. Thor stares at him helplessly, hands opening and closing, his own lips parted but making no sound. Loki settles himself on his knees again, his hungry eyes fixed on Thor and open his mouth wide, leaning in just close enough so that the tip of Thor’s cock rests on his tongue.

Thor whimpers before he can stop himself. Loki exhales, a deep rush of air, but does not move.

Thor is damned and doomed and he knows it. He nods and closes his eyes.

Loki’s mouth is hot and wet, and he takes the entirety of Thor’s cock so easily, his throat working around him as he swallows. Thor threads his hands into his hair again until he can feel the horns and grips them tight. They are ridged and feel almost metallic and he chokes off a sob, for the proof of what Loki is only increases his lust, the memories of mapping out Loki’s other form while blindfolded coming back to him in a rush.

He has tried to so hard to forget, to think of Loki only as a demon, a force of evil that has led him into sin; but he knows the truth, knows that it is his own desire that keeps Loki at his side, his yearning for the touch of something both more and less than human damning him even more than his unnatural delight in the beauty of men. Loki is no common demon, after all, no ifrit or incubus spawned in the pit, but a Prince of Hell, his blackened wings a mark of status, the feathers stained with smoke and ash and shadow from when he Fell.

Thor thrusts harder in Loki’s willing mouth, using his horns to hold him and guide him, and Loki lets him, gives himself over to Thor’s use and Thor remembers this, remembers how easily Loki submitted to him, gleefully and hungrily, accepting Thor’s flesh like a sacrifice, swearing his love for Thor as their bodies slid together. He offered so much and asked so little, spurring Thor on in battle, a constant shield at his side and a knife at his enemies’ throats.

White-hot pleasure is building low in Thor’s belly and he cannot stop his hips snapping forward, his cock buried deeply in Loki’s mouth and he wonders how he ever thought he could live without this, without the sweetness of Loki’s body and he only wishes he could hold on longer but he can’t, he can’t, the pleasure is rushing up inside him and he comes with a strangled yell, his hips lifting clean off the bed as he thrusts one final time.

Thor slumps forward, bracing himself on his knees, his chest heaving as the aftershocks of his orgasm ripple through him. Loki licks gently at his softening cock, teasing out the last droplets of come and licking his lips as if he cannot get enough of the taste.

As his breathing slows and the fury of his lust passes, Thor remembers where he is, and why. He shivers.

“Do you remember, _Brother_ Thor, how it was when we first met?” Loki says softly in the sudden silence. “How we rode beneath the desert stars? And fought under the burning sun? We were unstoppable, you and I. You were so much more than you are now, crouching in the dark, afraid to even speak. You were like a living god, a god of battle and death and victory. Do you not remember those glory days?”

Thor remembers them well. He remembers the fury of battle spreading through his body and the sudden shock of steel meeting steel. He remembers howling with bloodlust, Loki his dark and dangerous shadow, the pair of them hacking their way through foe after foe, to stand panting and exhausted in a circle of blood and gore. He remembers the frenzy dying away and he remembers the accusation in the eyes of the dead, the smell and the filth and the flies, oh god, the flies. He remembers the screaming.

“You could be mighty again,” Loki continues, his eyes bright. “Let us leave this dull place. I will take you anywhere you wish to go. I will bring you any treasure your heart desires. I will make you a king, a god amongst men. You have only to speak the word, and I will make it so.”

 _I was a murderer_ , Thor thinks, tears filling his eyes. _Everywhere I went the innocent suffered. I did terrible things. Unforgivable things_.

“Glorious things,” Loki whispers, “and you enjoyed every moment of it.”

The tears start to fall. Loki uncoils from between his legs and rears up until his face is level with Thor’s.

“How I love the taste of your despair,” he murmurs, cradling Thor’s face between his palms like a sacrament. “I shall never leave your side, my love. Not in this life, nor the one after.”

Thor weeps. The demon licks the tears from his face and smiles.


End file.
